“Do you know, my dear Serag, that there are countries where men get up at four o’clock in the morning to work in the mines?”
“Mines!” said Serag. “It isn’t true; you want to frighten me.”
He was deeply impressed. This upsetting conception of work that Rafik had inoculated him with, drop by drop, like a poison, finally convinced him it was all true. He would have liked to learn more, but Rafik didn’t speak and had begun pacing the room again.
‘Tell me, Rafik, my brother, that’s not true what you just said?”
“What’s not true?”
“That in some countries the men get up at four in the morning to work in the mines.”
“It’s true all right,” said Rafik. “We haven’t any mines here yet, but they’ll come. Someone will discover them. They’ll discover anything to force men to work and make beasts of them.”
“But isn’t there some other kind of work?”
Rafik gave a short laugh. It amused him to see Serag frightened as a child.
“Don’t be afraid. There aren’t any mines here yet. But men can do anything. They’ll find a way of discovering mines, even here where there aren’t any.”
“Who told you?”
“No one. But I know men better than you do. They won’t wait long, I tell you, to spoil this fertile valley and turn it into a hell. That’s what they call progress. You’ve never heard that word? Well, when a man talks to you about progress, you can be sure that he wants to subjugate you. In any case, for the moment, you’ve a magnificent security around you. And you want to go out! You’re mad; you don’t know what’s waiting for you.”
Rafik had stopped again in front of the window. He said no more and looked at the stunted palm balancing its branches in the heavy air. The child had left; an old man wearing a turban had taken his place. He personified humanity, squatting and blissful in his excrement. Rafik turned and came over to the bed.
“Tell me, I’ve asked you all day what news you have of the outside. Really, I would like to know about the weather. Is it very cold? Is there too much dust?”
“Why all these questions?”
“I have to go out,” said Rafik. “But I’m not yet completely decided. It’s only some business.”
“You, Rafik, you’re going out?”
“Yes, I’m going out. But believe me, it’s not to look for work. And now, sleep well, I’m going to try to get us out of our troubles.”
He left the room and went back to the dining room. He was still preoccupied with the same idea: to keep Haga Zohra from seeing his father. He lay down on the couch and waited. But he didn’t wait long. Sleep fell on him like a stone and crushed him.
VI
Since Rafik bad told him there were countries where men got up at four in the morning to work in the mines, Serag had been trying to do as much himself. He had discovered an alarm clock in a closet, and had had it repaired with the intention of using it. As he slept alone in his room, he could indulge in this unheard-of whim. However, the first day, the alarm nearly caused a riot in the house. Serag, not yet accustomed to this violent rupture of sleep, had let the clock ring on and on. He thought he was having a nightmare. On waking he had felt himself capable of tremendous activity. But some minutes later, not knowing what to do, he had gone back to sleep. He tried again the next day, and the next, having taken care to roll the clock in a towel to muffle the noise of the alarm. But these numerous attempts continued to be as unfruitful as the first. Hadn’t Rafik deliberately lied in order to frighten him? Serag now had doubts about the possibility of anyone’s getting up so early. It seemed improbable to him that sane men would go to work in the mines at this unwholesome hour. What could force them into such madness? However, Rafik had studied at the engineering school, so undoubtedly he should know. With him, though, you never knew when he was, laughing at you or telling the truth. In his sarcasms you could only see a deranged world pursued by unhappiness, a world swarming with bloody assassins.
While this was going on, to keep himself busy, Serag tried to find a solution for the problem of Abou Zeid’s shop; this passed the time and thus he could feel that he wasn’t completely inactive. Several ideas came to him, but he rejected them all, finding them ordinary or too easy. He wanted to find something supremely original, something that would amaze Abou Zeid and, at the same time, show him he was a member of a family of decision and refinement. But the idea hadn’t come yet. Serag was in no hurry. He reflected on the matter slowly, with circumspection, sure of uncovering a great idea in the end.
Serag hadn’t been out of the house since his last trip to the unfinished factory. He had to hoard his energy before undertaking a new excursion outside. Now, however, he felt himself in shape again, well disposed after several days of sleep, and he had decided to go and take still another look at the factory. To be sure, he didn’t really count on seeing it already finished, but it was a great consolation for him to visit the spot where he should have been working. He found a comfort and a feeling of action there that enabled him to survive the atmosphere of his home.
Stretched out on his bed, Serag looked toward the window and beyond the window at the blue sky, without a trace of clouds, where the sun burned radiantly. It was a spring day, a spring day that already carried a fatal warmth. Serag was rejoicing at the idea of the long walk to the factory. He thought of the child with the slingshot, saying to himself that perhaps he might see him again. He had an absorbing desire to find him — that child could he so useful to him! He had never forgiven himself for letting him leave without asking for all the details of his vagabond life. Serag thought of him as a skilled traveller; he was thirsty to hear all about his many pilgrimages around the city. With what a strange passion he had chased the birds! Serag had never sensed such a feeling of power in another human being. It was as if the child carried all the weight of the world and, at the same time, defended himself from it with a disdainful carelessness. He had seen so many things, met so many men, Serag promised himself, if he saw him again, to ask his advice about how he could live a fierce and passionate existence. His competence in the matter would be a great help.
He got out of bed, walked toward the closet and opened it. He took out his red woollen sweater, his football shoes, and began to dress.
“You’re going out?”
The door had just opened; Serag turned, saw Hoda, and became provoked. The young girl gently closed the door and walked into the room on tiptoe. She repeated, in a whisper:
“Are you going out?’
“Yes, I’m going out,” said Serag.
“Wait for me,” said Hoda. “I’ll finish the dishes and we can go out together.”
“That’s impossible,” said Serag. “I have some urgent business; I can’t wait.”
“That’s not true,” said Hoda. “The truth is you don’t want me to go. You don’t love me.”
She spoke in a childish voice, full of naïve reproach that moved Serag and troubled him. Her love for him was a hindrance to his projects for escape and an active life. He was angry for letting himself be affected by this amorous and obstinate little girl. It was a weakness worse than sleep that he couldn’t bear to see her suffer. He said, with a profound gentleness:
“But I do love you, you know it well. Only I haven’t time. I have to go out right now.”
She became sad and pouted; she didn’t believe him. She knew be had no urgent business, that it was only his desire to roam that took him outside.
“You ought to sleep,” she said.
“I’ve slept enough. I have to go out. Don’t you understand?”
“What are you going to do outside? I’m afraid for you when you’re outside.”
“You’re only a little girl. Why should you be afraid? All men don’t stay inside and sleep. You don’t know anything about life.”
“But you’re not like other men,” she said. “I’m afraid for you.”
“You’re crazy! What could happen to me? Do you know, Hoda,
there are countries where men get up at four in the morning to work in the mines?”
“That’s another of your inventions.”
“No it isn’t. Rafik told me.”
“It isn’t true,” said Hoda, “He was lying.”
“Do you think so?” said Serag. “Anyhow, it’s very difficult. I tried and couldn’t do it.”
“You tried to get up at four in the morning? What for? There aren’t any mines around here.”
“No, but Rafik said there would be soon. Anyhow, I have to train myself.”
“Hush,” said Hoda. “You really frighten me. Won’t you wait for me?”
She had a little girl’s stubborn attachment for him — a sort of vicious and troubled love. For him she accepted the vexations of her situation; thinking of him, she submitted to all the outrages and insults. She knew he wanted to leave the house, and she didn’t know how to stop him. If he would take her with him, she would leave gladly.
She came over to Serag, pressed herself against him, and put her arms around him. He was tall so she had to raise her head to look at him. She looked supplicating and tender. Serag couldn’t help smiling at her.
“Kiss me,” she said.
“I haven’t time. I have to go, I tell you. And I don’t want to tire myself, I’ve a long walk ahead of me.”
She held him more closely.
“Kiss me,” she begged.
Serag put his arms around her neck and began to kiss her mouth. He felt her tremble, and knew he couldn’t get away until he had made love to her. He loosened his embrace and sat on the bed. Hoda joined him, rubbed herself against him coaxingly, her eyes brilliant with a malicious light. She turned on her back and waited, submissive, for the approach of pleasure. She was smiling vaguely, her eyelids lowered, her face taut with expectation. A long moment she remained inert, not daring to move. Serag raised her dress, uncovering her slender brown legs. Hoda looked at Serag, then at her legs, as if they belonged to someone else. The pleasure had not yet come; she felt it trembling in her like a wounded bird. Serag moved his hand gently up her thigh, reached the sensitive spot of her flesh and lingered there. She gave a soft cry, caught him to her with all her strength and forced him to lie beside her.
He softly bit the tips of her breasts that had slipped through her dress. She let him enter her, her face happy and mischievous. Soon Serag’s head weighted her chest; she felt him falling asleep.
“Do you know,” she asked, “that Galal promised to give me five piastres if I’d let him see my breasts?”
Serag drew back, looking at her stupidly.
“He promised you five piastres!” he said. “He’s fooling you, he hasn’t any money.”
“Even if he had some,” said Hoda, “do you think I’d do it?”
“I don’t know,” said Serag. “Maybe he could force you to.”
“If he forced me,” said Hoda, “that wouldn’t be the same thing. Besides, he never would.”
“Why? Hasn’t he ever made you embrace him?”
“No,” said Hoda. “He tried, but he’s too lazy. He’d rather sleep.”
“Then I don’t understand. Why would he want to see your breasts?”
“No doubt that would give him pleasure,” said Hoda. “Sometime he wants to enjoy himself without getting too tired. Aren’t you jealous?”
Serag smiled and looked at Hoda.
“No, I am not jealous.”
Hoda didn’t say anything; she looked disappointed. She had wanted to make him jealous.
“The one who always forces me is Rafik,” she said. “I don’t know how to get away from him.”
“Don’t you like Rafik?” asked Serag. “He’s really remarkable. Do you know he’s been spending his time watching in the dining room to keep Haga Zohra from seeing my father. He’s been waiting for her for days. He’ll surely end by getting sick.”
“I know,” said Hoda, “He hasn’t only been waiting for Haga Zohra. Most of the time he’s waiting for me too.”
“Does that annoy you?” asked Serag. “He’s nice, Rafik. Why don’t you like him?”
“I only like you,” said Hoda. “And you’re mean to me.”
“I’m not mean,” said Serag. “I’m just thinking about other things.”
“What are you thinking about?” asked Hoda. “By Allah! You’re crazier than the others. I’m so unhappy!”
“Go away,” said Serag. “I have to leave. I’m late already.”
“Don’t go too far,” said Hoda.
She got up from the bed, smoothed her dress, and went out of the room silently.
Serag closed the gate to the garden and walked toward the highway. He was in a bad mood, felt weak, and cursed himself for giving in to this mood of Hoda’s. Now he didn’t have the energy to go as far as the factory; he’d have to put it off until another time. He realized that this girl was as pernicious to him as sleep. Her attachment for him was going to compromise his attempt for a free, industrious life. It was one more fetter to his dream of running away from his father’s house. How could he get free of her? Still, she was only a child, and Serag felt sorry for her. She was unhappy, he knew; she would be even more unhappy when he left.
Serag reached the highway; he had decided to go see Abou Zeid at his shop. He wished to submit several rather banal ideas to the peanut vendor that might give his mediocre business a lift. Thus, at least, his afternoon wouldn’t be entirely lost. It was warm, almost hot; Serag perspired and panted slightly, his eyes blinded by the glare. The sun burned everywhere, and the houses, on both sides of the road, seemed painted with large swaths of light. Serag was walking unsteadily, feeling as though he had ventured into an overwhelming brightness, full of invisible hazards. His hands felt damp in his pockets; he pulled them out and wiped them on his pants. Then he walked on, his arms swinging, his mind empty, his eyes fixed on the ground. He rarely met anyone on the road; it was too early. Serag was happy not to meet anyone. He didn’t want to talk, and then people always looked at him so strangely. They knew all his family, and smiled foolishly when they saw him coming. Serag was mortified every time. Suddenly he saw Mimi come out of an alley and hurry toward him, smiling. Mimi held his dog Semsen on a leash — a wretched animal, thin and dirty, that never left him.
“Hello,” said Mimi. “I haven’t seen you for a long time. How are you?”
“I don’t go out very much,” said Serag. “Are you taking a walk? How’s your dog?”
“He’s a dirty beast,” said Mimi. “He gives me a lot of trouble. Listen: I wanted to see you.”
“Really,” said Serag. “What about?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” said Mimi. “I’ve been wandering around your house every day hoping to see you. But I didn’t have any luck.”
“Is it very important?” asked Serag.
Mimi didn’t answer. He looked at Serag out of the corner of his eye, with a gleam of lust.
“Oh! it’s nothing very important,” he said. “I really just wanted to see you.”
“I’m glad I ran into you,” said Serag.
“Really?” asked Mimi.
“Of course,” said Serag. “I like your dog very much.”
“May I walk with you for a minute?” asked Mimi.
“Please do,” said Serag.
They began to walk along the side of the road, in the shade. Mimi held his head over his shoulder and smiled with ecstasy. He was still ogling Serag out of the corner of his eye. He was an odd young man, dressed with a studied elegance, with doubtful but refined manners. His plucked eyebrows and eyes darkened with grease gave him an equivocal, insinuating look. He walked daintily, lightly swinging his hips. From time to time he drew a handful of roasted watermelon seeds out of his jacket pocket and ate them with exquisite care.
“Would you like some?” he asked Serag.
“No thanks,” said Serag. “I don’t like them.”
“You should, they’re delicious. Unfortunately, they’re difficult to eat if one doe
sn’t know how to go about it.”
“I’ve never learned how to do it,” said Serag. “No one ever eats them at our house.”
“Yes, it’s not easy for you,” said Mimi. “You don’t ever dare try it. You probably only like what’s easy to eat. You don’t want to tire yourselves too much.”
“Oh no!” said Serag. “It’s just that no one likes them.”
“I understand,” said Mimi, “You don’t have to explain to me. And above all, don’t be angry about what I just said.”
“I’m not angry,” said Serag.
“Good,” said Mimi. “I’m so happy to have met you.”
He fluttered his eyelashes and smiled; he had beautiful red lips, rather full. Serag was terribly embarrassed. Mimi hadn’t yet explained why he had wanted to see him, but he knew him enough to guess the reason. He broke the silence:
“Do you still paint?”
“Yes,” said Mimi. “I even think I’ve succeeded in doing some extraordinary canvases. Someone wants to buy them; but I don’t want to sell.”
Mimi was a pupil at the Beaux Arts; he was going to be a painter and considered himself a great artist. No one had ever seen his paintings, but he claimed they were masterpieces. His family took him at his word; as for his many friends, they ridiculed him openly. In all the quarter he had a reputation for being rather bizarre, and for having his own unique morals.
“Did they offer you much money?” asked Serag.
“Of course,” said Mimi. “But I don’t care about money. I paint only for art.”
“That’s very beautiful,” said Serag. “You should be happy.”
“Only art interests me,” said Mimi. “That’s why I’m so interested in your family. You too, in your own way, are artists.”
“I don’t understand,” said Serag. “We aren’t artists, you’re mistaken. We don’t do anything at all.”
Laziness in the Fertile Valley Page 6
